Aeley's effort to make Tash feel welcome was not lost on him or his humility. Despite his request not to trouble herself or anyone else, Aeley had insisted they have the dinner. "We Dahes celebrate victories and blessings," she had said. "Your priesthood is all of that, so we'll drink and dine and serenade you with terrible stories and too much fuss. That's what happens when you're family."
Her kindness alone should have kept his melancholy at bay, at least for the time it took to eat. The staff of the Dahe estate had set up several dining tables in the ballroom, arranged end to end, and covered them with pristine white tablecloths as though Tash were a dignified guest. Twenty-six wooden chairs with deep red cushions sat around the tables, each occupied by someone important to him.
The sentiment of the celebration was appreciated, but the thought of Aeley considering him family grounded him in reality. He never wanted to come between Mayr and Aeley or tempt Aeley's anger. Her acceptance of him spurred his hope and a hundred wishes he ached to fulfill.
Those small joys failed to dispel the deeper truths. The dinner honoured his ability to pass the Uldana Trials and obtain the highest status of priesthood, but doubt and shame kicked up every memory and torment. His past would never stop haunting him. The ghosts would never settle.
"Here," Mayr said from Tash's right, handing him a glass bowl of diced vegetables and potent herbs in a thin cream sauce. "Looks like Cook's in the spoiling mood. She's made all your favourite things." He grinned and swept his hand over the table, careful not to hit any of the elegant platters set among the white tapered candles and gold goblets. "We must've caught her on one of her good days—unless you've been kissing up to her, using your charms."
Tash blinked back the conflict between what had been and what was, seeing only Mayr. Their fingers brushed as he took the bowl, the touch igniting better memories. Along with them, he caught the wafting scent of roasted meats in savoury gravy, spice tarts topped with mounds of caramelized winter fruits and sprigs of frozen herbs, freshly baked bread slathered in honeyed butter and blackenfroste berries, and heated balenut pudding on biscuits glazed with mead icing. Around him, more than two dozen voices collided. The various tones wove in and out of loud and soft as he caught snippets of conversation.
Time had slipped by again. Stuck in his head, he had removed himself from the comforts of life and missed precious moments.
But no matter where I go, Mayr, you find me and bring me home.
"The only one I kiss up to is you," Tash murmured, leaning into Mayr. His lips grazed Mayr's earlobe before settling on his smooth cheek. He breathed in the faint, spicy perfume on Mayr's neck, tempted to nip the skin around the unadorned collar of Mayr's black tunic. "You're my most favourite thing, something she can't offer."
"Good to know." Mayr's hand crept beneath Tash's red veil. His calloused fingertips slid under Tash's hair to caress his neck in slow circles.
Tash shivered as Mayr teased his spine above the collars of his robes. Compared to their first training session a week ago, the touch was a seductive whisper. His back, ribs, and limbs were still bruised and tender from sparring, though he was not as damaged as Mayr feared.
You went too easy on me, but we'll work on it. Tash drew back from Mayr to add spoonfuls of the vegetable mixture to his already full plate. Regardless of what Mayr thought, Tash enjoyed the physical training. While he could do without the pain and the reason to fight, he missed the exertion and discipline. At least now I'm doing it for the right reason, and it's something we can do together. It's another chance to feel you close. He held the bowl tight in both hands. Because there you were, being careful like no one else has. You have no idea what it's like being in love with you… It's like curling up in a warm haven and getting lost in blissful daydreams.
Stifling a sigh, he stared at the colourless glass bowl. Etiquette told him he needed to pass the bowl to Aeley.
Frustration commanded he throw it to the floor just to watch it shatter.
He needed the glass to burst into scathing shards the way his inner peace did. He wanted to point at the mess and yell "That's me!" because he was sputtering on words to describe how he felt and the strength to share them.
His will used to be stronger. He used to be stronger, drifting through the days alone, confiding in priests who offered kindness without fully understanding his pain. With their help, he had worked towards an inner calm. The Uldana Trials had been his greatest effort to earn absolution from the Goddesses and set himself free.
Life had not worked out as he anticipated. The Trials had taught him absolution was more than a word or action from the Goddesses: it was a matter of forgiving himself and surrendering to love. The Trials also brought him an abundance of family he could not disappoint. Not only did he worry about the priests, he had reunited with his parents and sister, none of whom he wanted to abandon again. Then there was Ress and his cousins, Mayr and his family, and Adren, a lost soul who needed protection from a world that believed cir kind were myths.
For a spiritual journey that was meant to help him, the Trials had skipped around freedom and run straight to chaos, complicating his life more than the Shar-denn had.
"Here, let me," Mayr whispered, taking the bowl from Tash. He offered it across the table to Lira, who sat at Aeley's left, opposite Tash.
Another lapse—and I look like an idiot.
"Sorry." Tash's face warmed. He stared at his hands, hoping no one noticed the tremble in his fingers. The tremor decreased the harder he pressed his wrists against the edge of the table, the dark brown leather of his bracers biting into his scarred forearms.
Mayr clutched Tash's hand. "Don't be. You've had a lot on your mind." When he squeezed Tash's fingers, Tash's hands steadied. "Tell me about it later. Maybe I can help?"
He sounded so hopeful, a part of Tash splintered.
I want to tell you everything, but I can't keep showing you how miserable and paranoid I am. How many times can you go through the same things without getting tired of it? You're already restless, pulling away from me with your own secrets. I feel it. I see it. These last few weeks have changed us, but I'll fight to keep you, even if it means battling anguish on my own.
"Thank you." Tash drew the back of his hand down Mayr's cheek, fighting the urge to kiss him. Although their guests would have expected it, he wanted to avoid the attention. His sister, Allaysia, sat on the other side of Mayr, waiting for a reason to tease them. She was not the only one who would find a kiss fodder for playful embarrassment: Mayr's sister and brother, Estara and Loftin, and Ress's cousins, Bremary and Covran, were trouble in their own rights.
That's without considering the children. We should set an example if we're ever going to have one…
Gripping his fork, Tash poked at his food and mixed the piles together, channeling regret into the assault. He and Mayr were not ready to discuss children, apparent from Mayr's reactions since Tash first made the suggestion. Mayr had said they would discuss it after Tash had been an Uldana-level priest for a year. Now that day's here, and he's not any more interested than he was three months ago. With Ress and Adren here, I don't see him agreeing at all. There are too many dangers, too many distractions. Our attention is too divided to make it work, especially if he's changing his mind about us. If we're already starting to slip, a child won't bring us together; they'll tear us apart. Sometimes the best course of action is inaction.
Tash cast his gaze down the tables, past the candlelight and gleaming silver and gold dinnerware to the rest of the ballroom, with its grey walls of wide coarse stones and silver gilding. A fire blazed in the large hearth in the wall to his right. Torchlight illuminated the silver and black tapestries depicting winter scenes in forests and ice-breaking ships on the seas. Between the tapestries hung large snowflake-shaped decorations, crafted from silver-streaked parchment with a blue tinge and white lace that glimmered with jewels. Each snowflake was the size of a shield used in a battle and fastened to a lattice of white gold. The decorations h
ad been up since the Feast of Taleyra the Righteous, the holy observance to celebrate the beloved consort of Navara, the Goddess of Justice and the winter season.
The clink of metal tore his attention back to Aeley. She rose from the table, goblet in hand, and everyone fell silent. Lira stood beside her, dressed in a modest white gown. The dress hid everything except her hands and boasted the latest fashion of tiered lace cuffs with small white bows at the seams. Her dark hair was curled tight, swept up by white ribbons and narrow strands of silver.
"Before things get too serious and we lose some of you to the brew, I'd like to interrupt everyone—mostly because I can," Aeley announced.
"At least you're honest," Loftin responded from five seats down on Tash's right, his voice deep like Mayr's. "We've always known you're an attention whor—" He caught himself, choking on the last word. Several snickers floated through the air. "Sorry, I'll shut up now. I'm getting Tara's glare of personalized doom."
Soft laughter followed from the rest of their guests. Leaning back, Tash glimpsed Estara flicking her fingers at her brother and uttering what he supposed was a threat.
"One of these days, Loftin, she's going to stuff you—and I'm going to help." Aeley grinned and tipped her goblet at him. "That's tomorrow's fun. For now, Lira and I want to say a few words." She flicked her glance to Tash. "We've had the pleasure of knowing Tash for the last year, and I truly mean it's a pleasure. He's the kind of person that doesn't remain a stranger for long. He's easily found a place in our lives and settled in."
"Which is why hosting this dinner required no second thought," Lira said. "As dear as he is to Mayr, he's also endeared himself to us. We can't help but want to celebrate with him." She raised her goblet towards Tash. "This toast is for you, from your family and friends—a thank you for touching our lives. To your happiness."
"To your happiness," voices echoed, followed by whistles and cheers for good fortune. Goblets raised in Tash's direction. His family beamed their encouragement. Mayr's hand clasped his.
Tash's stomach churned. He forced a smile until his face strained too much to continue. "Thank you," he managed, lifting his goblet of wine.
While everyone else drank in his honour, he battled the excruciating need to be sick.
Beside him, Mayr joked with Allaysia. The sound of her giggles warmed Tash's heart. During the eleven years he had avoided his family, he had missed his sister's dulcet tones and youthfulness. Whenever he looked at Allaysia, he saw parts of himself mirrored back: light tan skin, brown hair with blond strands, and blue eyes inherited from their mother, Parase. Their resemblance to their father, Kilienn, could not be denied. Nor could the fact their emotions tended to eat at them, often tumbling out in an embarrassing display.
Despite everything, she still believed in Tash. For all the distress he had put her and their parents through, she still loved him, even when it hurt.
To think I’d convinced myself I was too old to need Ally's advice and help. Tash snorted and picked at his dinner with small bites. I still need her to be my big sister, especially when I'm too stubborn to see what's good for me.
If he focused hard enough, he could remember the frivolous games they played as children, often revising the rules until they learned to best each other with ludicrous strategy. Or the pranks they pulled, taunting each other until they erupted in a fit of angry shouts and thrown sticks that gave way to playful slaps and belly-aching laughter. With seven years between them, Tash had been at Allaysia's mercy, several steps behind her. He had always fumbled to find himself, always wanted to be her shadow.
Those childhood joys and woes defined his existence until the Shar-denn claimed him, murdering his innocence when he was thirteen years old. After that, he had struggled to be half a dozen steps ahead of Allaysia to protect her from the gang. She was a seamstress like their mother, not a trained fighter. Her life revolved around their family, their family's tailoring shop, and her friends. Without Tash's determination and strength as a guard, the Shar-denn would have tortured her with their lust for violence and control.
He had done what he could for Allaysia, no different than what Ress had done for his own family. Where Tash had severed ties with his family, telling himself they were dead until he believed it, Ress had chased his family out of Araveena Ford—except for Bremary and Covran, two maternal cousins who refused to leave.
Those same cousins sat on the other side of Allaysia. Just as Tash loved Ress like a brother, he considered Bremary and Covran extended family. He had spent time with them as a child, wanting to be their friend, but worried they might not accept him because Allaysia was everyone's favourite. They resembled Ress more than their own brother and sister, favouring the same dark eyes and hair, tan complexions, slender forms, and similar height. Like Ress, they were in the metalsmith business and managed the shop in Araveena Ford their great-grandparents had started.
A shop Ress had abandoned to save Adren, who fidgeted at the table as though ce wanted to escape.
Seated across from Allaysia, Adren spoke quietly to Ress on cir left and leaned close to him, seeking comfort. Adren spared the occasional word to Pellon at cir right, though Tash suspected it was only out of politeness—Adren still seemed wary of Pellon's intimidating demeanor and large build. Dressed in a white gown with black ribbons under a black leather long coat, Adren had tied cir long red hair back into a loose tail. Visibly awkward with a nervous smile, Adren flicked cir gaze around the room. Ce kept one slender hand under the table, near the knife strapped to cir thigh.
Tash sympathized with Adren's need for precaution: having lived in the estate for only a week, Adren had yet to trust anyone or anything, least of all strangers and small spaces. Guards followed cir everywhere. It was also no accident that Adren sat between Pellon and Ress, or that Pellon occupied the chair between Adren and Lira. As the second-in-command for Aeley's guard, Pellon protected the Dahe family first and kept an eye on everyone else, particularly when they came from a family under investigation for every crime imaginable.
Yet Adren's move to the estate had changed more than security—it changed how Adren saw cirself. Life in the Shar-denn had ingrained expectations and perspectives in Adren that took time to undo. Even worse was the fact that Adren was unlike everyone else except for cir own kind, the Goddess-touched—a race no one knew how to find. Although ce seemed as human as anyone else, there was a touch of sacred blood in cir veins. Like all Goddess-touched, ce was a descendant of their Goddesses, blessed with magic and a deeper, innate connection to the divine. Most had disappeared, but Adren's existence proved some still lived. More than that, they may have chosen to hide in plain sight, though it did nothing to help Adren. Tash did his best to guide Adren through the challenge of trading a criminal past for a law-abiding future, but his help was limited. He had no answers for how a Goddess-touched made it through while dealing with their magic and the call of the divine.
It's almost as frustrating as not knowing what bloodline ce's from. He feared it would take years to find the answers about Adren's origins. That would not stop him from trying, however, even if he had to spend fifty years buried beneath a mountain range of books. The more he learned about Adren, the more he found significance in the things that even ce shrugged off. Adren shared more in common with the Goddess Navara than ce realized, right down to the duality in their balanced natures. Adren's soul flourished within two beautiful sides of self that flowed from one to the other, their fluid movement as elegant as the words ce used to name cirself, capturing the essence of that soul with intent.
Ce was more than masculine or feminine, more than hard or soft, more than anything that defined cir: ce was a whole of many, where the lines between were so fine they disappeared completely. From light and airy to dark and braced, Adren's dichotomies bled into one another, instantaneously shifting from cir quiet and uncertain nature to the louder, determined part of cir that burned as hot as cir magic. Adren reminded him of the human form of Navara that occasionall
y slipped through the realms to change the world from within the mess people had made rather than work around them.
And what a mess we've made.
Tash slouched as he slid his gaze towards Ress. He eyed the scar that marred Ress's right jaw, a crude mark inflicted after Tash had left the Shar-denn without telling anyone. Though Ress did not hide it, preferring to wear his brown-black hair short around his worn, lean features, the scar bothered Ress as much as his injured knee. They were permanent wounds, like the gashes Tash had stabbed in Ress's trust.
Trust I'm never going to have in full again. He's right: when I destroy lives, I really commit. Even my good intentions are a straight path to death.
Fork steadied in his hand, his dinner barely consumed, Tash stared at the silver ring on his right hand. The ring embraced his middle finger like a talon. Long and curved from knuckle to fingertip, the ring was ribbed and detailed like a bird's claw. From the base, a chain extended across the back of his hand to a metal link on his bracer. A gift from Ress for Tash's eighteenth birthday, the piece represented the claw of Halataldris, the legendary bird that kept company with Emeraliss, the Goddess of Love. Not only had Tash been named after that bird, its image adorned his back.
A piece of my flesh I gave to the Shar. I surrendered to them that easily. I let them violate me. Disgusted, he laid down his fork and snatched his goblet. With each sip of wine, he swallowed back the bile and sickness fighting their way up. I took the sacredness of the Father of All Birds and soiled it. I abused Mother's beautiful memory. How can I be fit to be named after a messenger of love when I spent so much time playing with hate?
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